Devotion
by saketini
Summary: Assorted rusame drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

Tumblr prompt, "I need this."

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><p>He should have known better. Alfred stuck his hands under the running water in short jerking movements. His phone was buzzing in his pocket, excitedly announcing an incoming call. He ignored it and glared at his reflection in the mirror of the public bathroom of the office for the wonderful job that he had just lost.<p>

The interview had been a disaster before it had even started. He and Ivan had been up late listening to their neighbors arguing over their water bill. His alarm hadn't gone off so instead of waking up two hours early, he woke up ten minutes after he was supposed to leave. Alfred's hair was uncombed and suit a wrinkled mess as he ran to the subway. He had forgotten his resume copies on the kitchen table. It then wasn't much of a surprise when he ended up sitting in gum when he found a vacant seat, ruining his last decent pair of trousers. Trying to scrape it off with a pen that he had found in his pocket had only caused the pen to explode and bleed blue ink all around the stain.

To top it all off, when he finally made it, he could hear his stomach growling throughout the entire interview in protest for skipping breakfast. He was fairly certain Mr. Kirkland had heard it too. He had coughed and pushed a jar of candies not-so-discretely across the table when they were discussing his references.

It had seemed like a dream come true when he had gotten the call back a week ago. A way out of the awful retail job he had taken to pay the rent. A way into the business world he had always wanted to be a part of.

He really should have known better.

Alfred splashed more cold water onto his face. While he couldn't blow the interview twice, he didn't think crying in their bathroom would make a good impression.

_Can they throw me out for trespassing if I'm in here too long?_

"Fuck."

The trudge to the subway station was bright and sunny and the seat perfectly clean. He could swear he could hear birds singing as he exited the platform at his stop. His phone was still buzzing. Ivan, probably. He was the only one who knew he had the interview. Alfred wasn't quite sure what he was going to say.

Admit he failed? Admit it was a disaster? That he still couldn't get it right? Get anything right?

The only thing in his stomach was a stale lemon candy and it was now twisting itself into knots. He had nightmares about these things. That Ivan would get tired of the younger boyfriend who couldn't get it right. He didn't want to be that couple arguing over the water bill at 3am. It sounded awful. Lonely.

Ivan found him in the hallway outside their apartment. He had probably opened the door to figure out where the sniffling noise was coming from.

"You! You didn't pick up your phone! You forgot your — oh, _dorogoy_…"

He pulled him inside for a hug, patting him gently in the back of the head as he gave into the need to cry. The door clicked firmly shut behind them.

"Were they mean to you? Alfred, why are you sticky? I'll make it better. What do you need?"

Ivan smelled like clean laundry and fresh coffee. He had taken the day off work as a surprise. His excuse was that he wanted to get housework done, but Alfred knew he wanted to be there when he got home. There were probably cookies waiting for him in the oven.

_What do I need?_

"This," he settled into the hug, face pressed into the other's scarf. "Just…I need this."


	2. Chapter 2

Tumblr prompt, "I think you missed your calling."

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><p>It appeared they had picked up an unexpected souvenir at the petting zoo. "Souvenirs" if you wanted to be technical about it. Alfred's expression was a mixture of panic and barely contained glee. He jogged back and forth in front of the gate, turning back to watch his new friends waddle anxiously behind him. Fallen leaves scattered in their wake. Ivan was hiding giggles behind his scarf.<p>

The whole date had been Alfred's idea.

_We took my students here a few weeks ago and it was a lot of fun._

_Fredik, your students are six._

_Gil just turned seven! And you like fluffy things!_

Ivan wouldn't admit it, but he had enjoyed the idea. He actually did like fluffy things: their pair of oversized cats, freshly fallen snow, warm blankets and Alfred's wild bed-head.

He had especially liked the sheep. Upon realizing the two had a small bag of treats to share, three of the lambs and their mothers had pattered up to the fence. Ivan had removed his gloves to touch their soft fleece and feel their pink noses press against his palm.

Ivan pretended he couldn't see Alfred's smile out of the corner of his eye.

Alfred had then run up to the duck pond, excited to see how much the ducklings had grown since he had seen them last. The mother had been quacking at the keepers when he arrived. Unattended and apparently recognizing the blond in some form, five little ducklings had wobbled their way over to his shoes.

They were now following the trailing laces of his red converses as he spun in circles around Ivan.

"I think you missed your calling."

Alfred laughed and crouched down to let them bump into his outstretched fingers. He had lost one of his gloves again and his fingers were pink from the cold.

"Duck leader?"

"Or father. I think their mother is angry with you."

Ivan gestured behind him where the quacking could only be described as anxious.

"True," he shooed them away until they fell back into their enclosure. "Gotta go home little dudes. Mom'll be cranky."

Ivan hauled him up by his hands, already tucking his own gloves onto his cold fingers.

"Us too. Time to go home."

A gentle kiss to wind-chapped cheeks.

_Thank you._


	3. Chapter 3

Tumblr prompt, "you want me to do what?"

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><p>"You want me to do what?"<p>

Ivan squinted suspiciously at his companion from under his hat.

"Don't worry! It'll be fun!"

Alfred was tanned, shirtless excitement. He smelled like coconut oil and the sun had brightened his hair considerably. Dark aviator sunglasses shielded his baby blues. As a final insult, his shorts were even hanging low to show off a well-developed tan line.

Ivan was hot and annoyed. He was also fairly certain his nose was sunburned. There was a pretty drink with an umbrella waiting for him under his new favorite palm tree. He could see it just beyond the sand, beckoning with glistening condensation. It promised him rum, shade and maybe even salty sweet kisses.

"I don't see how this is fun. The drinks were fun."

"We can get more later!"

Ivan frowned at the longboard under Alfred's arm. It was apparently supposed to be his. The board was cherry red and shiny with wax. It flashed in the sun like Alfred's trademark grin.

Alfred tilted his head.

"No one's here. Just us. Promise. And it's foam not fiberglass so you won't crack your knees if you come down too hard."

Ivan tossed his hat in the direction of their other things but crossed his arms in front of his chest right when Alfred's grin began to reappear.

"If no one's here I can think of other things to do."

"Ivan!"

He watched him twitch in embarrassment, flushing in compliment to his own burn. Alfred dropped the leash he was holding but managed to keep his grip on the board. Ivan laughed as he bent over to pass it back to him. He contemplated throwing it in the ocean instead, still not keen on the idea of using it to attach the board to his ankle as he had been instructed.

"We could use the coconut oil."

The blush actually made his teeth look brighter.

"Get on the fucking board or I'm breaking your kneecaps with it."

Ivan laughed and started walking towards the water.

"I thought you said it was foam?"

The leash was thrown at the back of his head with a firm sandy crack.


	4. Chapter 4

Tumblr prompt, "I'll never unsee that."

Takes place in the same universe as "Fluoride."

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><p>His sisters had particularly awful ways of getting back at him.<p>

There had been an argument. A minor one he had thought. Work had run late and he hadn't been able to meet them for dinner.

He really had no way of knowing that it would rain and they would be stuck walking home without a ride. Natalia had lobbed her ruined heels at his bedroom door and given him the silent treatment for the evening. Yekaterina had ignored his texts.

The next morning, hugs had been exchanged and sweet pastries passed around. All had seemed resolved. He had even come home early that evening as an apology. Ivan had thought he had gotten off easy, all things considered.

But when he saw what was in Alfred's hands while his sisters waved their hands and chatted excitedly, hovering just above him around the couch…

He knew. He knew he had lost.

"And here he is as a teenager!"

"_Ohmygosh_, are those chains?"

Oh god, how he had lost.

"Big brother had piercings."

"Is that what I think it is?" Alfred was struggling to hold in a laugh as he pointed.

"Yes," the two women controlling his demise said in unison.

He gripped tightly at the two beers in his hands. Photo albums that were lovingly kept at his older sister's home had been stacked with glee across his gorgeous glass coffee table. The green leather binding in Alfred's hands meant he was nearing his high school graduation.

The _coup de grâce _was perched on the arm of the sofa just by his Alfred's left arm. Pastel, worn, old. Clearly next in line.

The baby photos album.

"I—"

He stuttered, unsure of how to stop the pending blow to his ego.

_Please, no. I'll buy you new shoes. Anything. He doesn't know how awkward I was. _

"Ivan! You never showed me these!"

_He doesn't _need _to know how awkward I was._

He had stolen his sister's skirts and his mother had thought it "oh so cute!" He had decided he wanted to be a bear and smeared mud all over his arms to complete the look. He had taken scissors to Natalia's braids while she slept and she had shaved off his eyebrows in retaliation.

The empty spot next to Alfred was pointed to as a command. Ivan found himself moving robotically into position. Alfred's drink was clicked onto a coaster. Ivan clutched his like a lifeline as he relived every childhood mistake in bright glossy color.

Mission complete, his sisters left for Yekaterina's. Alfred grinned and waved them out the door.

"Just," Ivan touched his hands to his scarf. "Pretend you didn't see those."

"Nah, you know how it is. What has been seen —"

"Fredik, dorogoy, _please_—"

He grabbed at his hands to hold them still, keep them from grabbing more albums. Alfred was still laughing.

"— and I'll never unsee _that_."

He smiled brightly and caught a distraught Ivan in a hug.

"Don't worry, I still like you. Dad'll show you mine and Matty's baby photos soon enough anyway. You'll have to guess which is which. Deal?"

"Ah," he buried his blush into the other's shoulder. "Deal."


	5. Chapter 5

Tumblr prompt, "I have a bad feeling about this."

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><p>"I don't even really like that scarf," Ivan called up to him.<p>

"Didn't your coworkers buy it for you?"

"I don't really like them either. Come down from there!"

Alfred was two floors up from the ground and still climbing. They had plans that evening to meet friends for dinner. On the walk, an unexpected gust of wind from an alley had carried Ivan's scarf up and onto an exposed fire escape.

Ever the hero, Alfred had begun scrambling up the old ladder to retrieve it.

"It's _fine._ People are supposed to climb up and down these things. They're made for it."

"That one was 'made for it' 50 years ago!"

"You just made that up!"

It actually was a very old ladder. The neighborhood they were in was being remodeled. Most of the other apartments and offices had already been stripped and rebuilt from the studs. This one was presumably next in line. Older and uninhabited, the corporate tenants had long ago relocated their offices elsewhere.

The building might have been _slightly_ condemned, but the windows and doors were all mostly there so it couldn't be that bad. Alfred had even jumped up and down on the bottom rung a bit. It had held his weight with only a little bit of wiggle. Besides, he was almost there.

"I just…I have a bad feeling about this, _dorogoy_."

"You said that about the deep fried turkey experiment!"

"I still don't think we should have done that in the apartment."

"Delicious though."

He nodded to himself. It had taken them a week to eat all of it. Turkey sandwiches, turkey casserole, turkey piroshki, turkey burritos… and now he was within arm's reach of his goal.

The whole thing probably would have gone better if it hadn't just rained.

Alfred reached out with one arm to grab at the silk. It was still moving slightly in the wind, and he lurched forward to snatch it before it floated away again. His sneakers were flashy, but not very functional, and they slipped on the wet rungs under his feet.

Four floors up from the cement below, he was lucky he was still holding on with one arm.

"_Fredik!_"

The lurching motion he was already halfway into slammed his side into the metal barrier between him and the brick wall. The breath was knocked out of him and his shoulder made an _oh god that's probably not a good sign _pop as it bore his weight and the brunt of his impact. He even managed to crack his head against the wall.

He had won though.

Alfred wheezed out a broken "got it!" as he waved the scarf with his free hand. Below him, Ivan wasn't speaking in English any longer, but had been reduced to an impressive stream of Russian profanity.

"I can—"

"Don't you move! I'm coming up!"

Alfred kicked his way back towards the ladder and slid down to the nearest landing, catching his breath once he got his feet on a solid footing. He promptly lost it again when Ivan reached him and grabbed him in what was more of a death grip than a hug.

"—and I don't even _like_ that thing. It's…what's the word…it looks like bugs. Germs. You almost died for _germs._"

"Paisley?"

"We're going to go home and then we're going to burn it."

Alfred thought that was a bit of a waste, but wasn't about to protest.

He still thought he had won.


	6. Chapter 6

Canonverse, tumblr prompt: "Are you flirting with me?"

No one picked it but I wanted to write it. Ha.

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><p>"I'm telling you, someone was in my room!"<p>

"We know. You've said that three times."

"Then why don't you believe me? My glasses case was—"

England waved his fork in a shushing gesture.

"Because frankly, pet, you can be a tad paranoid. The cleaning staff probably just bumped into it while wiping down the counters."

America huffed and pushed his fried tomatoes onto Canada's plate. He flicked them back when England wasn't looking.

"If it was the cleaning people, I would have noticed it last night, not this morning."

"So either someone managed to get into your room, sneak into your bathroom," his brother counted off points on his fingers as he spoke, "move your case just to annoy you, and then leave without touching anything else or waking you up…or you simply didn't notice it last night because our flight got in late and you were tired."

"You do snore," England added.

"Worst. You guys are the _worst_."

"Weren't you going to buy a new one anyway? You were complaining about it being cracked."

"But that's not the point…"

They ignored him as he pouted into his coffee through the rest of breakfast.

When they arrived at the conference room later, sleek leather binders with agenda points and outlines had already been placed in front of their chairs. America ignored his for the first hour in favor of sneaking glances at his phone. Halfway through a speech regarding the fiscal state of the EU, he gave in to the temptation to doodle. He flipped open to the first page and found it had already been violated by a pretty blue post-it note:

_You didn't notice the toothbrush. _

His angry shouting got him kicked out of the room.

Not wanting to wait around for a lecture on his behavior, he stomped over to the elevators. Fourteen floors up and a sprint down the hall, a pink note was taped to his door:

_I didn't actually do anything to your toothbrush. _

America jammed in the keycard anyway. He got it in at a bad angle the first few times before the electronic whirl of the lock announced his success. Snatching the note off the door as he passed, he texted an _I told you so_ photo of it to England and Canada.

"_Creeeepy…_" was Canada's response.

The room had been cleaned already, the bed remade with a chocolate left on his pillow. His suitcases were where he had left them and the laptop was still locked in place. Even an investigation of the safe confirmed his passport and the fancy cufflinks gifted from France were where they should be. The bathroom was the only place where something was amiss. A green note was waiting for him by his toothpaste:

_And you weren't actually snoring. I was just quiet. _

Plus the bright yellow one on the teddy bear near the sink:

_For you. Room 1309?_

The bear was wearing a fuzzy scarf and holding a new case for his glasses. America glared at it before giving in and grabbed the bear with a sigh. He tucked it into his bed. His phone buzzed but he ignored England's response to his last text, he already knew it was an offer to find him a new room.

As 1309 was directly below his, he now had a feeling he knew how Russia had been getting in. He locked the balcony door on his way out and took his time walking down the stairs.

The other door opened after his first knock. Cool hands grabbed his and tugged him into the room. A kiss was placed on his forehead.

"You're so _weird. _What are you doing? Is this your idea of flirting? Are you flirting with me?"

Russia hummed happily.

"I saw you at breakfast. You make cute faces when you're annoyed."

He wrinkled his nose in response and a kiss was placed there too.

"You liked the bear?"

"…Yes. And thank you for the case."

"Only fair since I broke the last one."

America turned his head at the last second so the next kiss ended up on his cheek. Even the other man's lips were slightly cool to the touch.

"You're skipping the meeting."

"And I heard you got yourself kicked out."

The next kiss tasted like chocolate and landed on his lips.


	7. Chapter 7

_The grocery stores around here don't carry the shitty frozen pirogies my mom makes back home and almost 5000 miles away._

_Heads up: Referenced character death with the accompanying angst for this one. _

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><p>The shopping basket handles were shaped too thin. They were digging painfully into Ivan's forearm and the tips of his fingers were starting to tingle. He had a feeling that if he pushed up his sweater sleeves, angry red dents would be left behind by the metal.<p>

He was also fairly certain every store he had been in for the past week was playing songs from the same holiday playlist. Some Satan-spawned CD that was trailing in his snowy footsteps.

Thankfully this was supposed to be his last stop. His family was coming over and he was making them dinner. He had even sweet-talked Alfred's family into coming. All he needed were the ingredients.

A packet of flour was weighing down his basket. All-purpose was supposedly fine. Sugar he already had in the pantry at home along with the salt. Crisco had been grabbed because apparently shortening worked better than butter. Plus a pound of butter because he was skeptical. He even had a small container of buttermilk nestled next to the new oven mitt.

Alfred had taught him his favorite buttermilk biscuit recipe a while back and he had promised them he would give it a shot on his own. The other man had made it look easy, padding around their shared kitchen in his brightly colored socks as he hummed off-key Christmas music.

Ivan spun the ring that had been placed on his finger and never removed. He had forgotten his list, still stuck to the refrigerator door at home with some garish magnet. Baking powder and baking soda were both staring at him from their spots on the shelves and he couldn't remember which one he needed.

He had tried googling a recipe on his phone but the search results had all been different. Some had said both, some had said neither, and none of them seemed right. Driving home and back to the store again just for the list seemed a bit wasteful. He had texted his sister and she hadn't known the answer. Arthur had promised him he could call whenever he needed anything but he didn't think this qualified and—

Alfred had been dead for four months, three days and nine hours.

He had made himself forget the minutes.

The labels were getting a bit blurry and he blinked rapidly before anyone else in the aisle could see. He set the basket gently down on the shiny linoleum floor before the weight dragged him down. Ivan knew it would probably annoy the employee who found it later but he had left his scarf with Alfred when he had said goodbye so he had no way to cover his face and he needed to leave. He was having trouble breathing.

He made it back to the quiet of his car before he covered his face and gave in.

"Fredik," he said into the empty space. "I'm lost."


	8. Chapter 8

He shouldn't have been surprised when America showed up unannounced. It happened so regularly, in fact, that he should only have been surprised if someone_ other_ than America was ringing his doorbell.

In the middle of winter. At eleven thirty at night.

When Russia told him that, America thought he was making a dirty joke.

"You're letting someone else ring your _what?_"

Russia shut the door in his face.

Five minutes later when the laughter on the other side of the door transitioned into complaints about the cold, to confused texts, to angry shouting, and to slightly sniffled and mumbled acceptance, Russia felt guilty enough to let him inside. America's hand felt cold in his as he tugged him towards the kitchen.

"Don't you ever wear gloves?"

"Maybe I would have if I knew you were going to _lock me out_."

He was instead wearing a pout, ever the victim of his own behavior. Russia directed him to a chair while he began to work on tea. Something warm to press into his red palms.

"I gave you mittens. You should wear them."

"I like them though, I don't want them to wear out."

There was a bag tied with a gold ribbon sticking out of America's coat pocket. It looked slightly fussed over, the edges creased. Russia poured sugar into a mug and sat down next to his guest. Their knees bumped gently against each other.

"Present," America revealed the bag with a flourish. "I saw you looking. They're chocolates."

"From?"

"Me. I've been taking lessons. You're my guinea pig."

The bag was placed expectantly in front of him and he tugged at the ribbon to inspect the contents. It was filled with chocolates as promised. Some had been dusted with sugar and others were shiny. They were _mostly_ round, and slightly irregular in size.

_Cute._

"They don't have anything weird in them?"

"No! I asked Belgium for help."

"Then why didn't your brother eat them?"

"He ate the lumpy ones. He's the one who wanted to learn and I got dragged in."

He squinted at America's reddening face and back down at the bag. Russia scooted his chair closer and asked which one he was supposed to try first.

"Great! It's up to you to figure out which ones have coconut in them," he leaned in to grab one at random as he chattered. "I got them all mixed up."

America smiled as he pressed a chocolate against Russia's lower lip. A pretty little bonbon that was slightly chilled from the cold. It ended up being hazelnut dusted with cocoa that melted sweetly on the tongue. Rum, raspberry, coconut, and then candied orange were fed to him as they forgot their drinks.

He was thankful they actually were good so he wouldn't have to worry about being caught in a lie later. A relieved kiss was given to him in exchange for the honest compliment. The other's lips still felt cool and slightly chapped, a product of the season. He tugged him in closer for seconds and thirds.


	9. Chapter 9

It started off with things the optometrist called "floaters." Odd little bubbles, little flecks, little specks that danced around the corners of his vision. Taunting him.

_Everyone has a few from time to time, but you're going to see more than others._

They were the reason he had gone to the doctor in the first place. That and the odd headaches that had bothered him throughout the day. While his vision had never been the best, he had rarely needed more than an annual check up to change his prescription. Ivan had driven him to the appointment and he was thankful for the hand holding onto his as he learned the results. The news had been a shock that left him numb.

It really was an odd thing, being told you would have your vision for only a few more months at best. He had stared blankly at the optometrist's face as words like _infection_ and _predisposition _were dropped into the air. Ivan's questions about possible treatment were all shot down one by one until they were left realizing that modern medicine wasn't really as magical as they had been led to believe.

Then came the warnings of lightning, flashes of light and streaks of red. That was the sign that he needed to get to the clinic immediately. Warnings of _retinal tears_ and _detachments_ that made his stomach roll. Until then, things would simply get blurrier, softer around the edges until they finally faded away.

Alfred hadn't cried until he got home, burrowing under the blankets of their bed until Ivan pulled him out with promises that everything would be alright.

He wanted to lock himself in the bedroom and pretend he hadn't heard what the doctor had said. Pretend that if he wished hard enough, it would simply go away. He was angry that something he had taken for granted was being taken away with so little notice. He was afraid that he'd lose his job because he would be too difficult to keep on payroll, or become too much of a burden on the boyfriend whose house he had just moved into.

"We could try another doctor," Ivan said.

And they did. Twice. Three times. But the answer was always the same:

_There's no solution and nothing you could have done. Just bad genetic luck. I would recommend therapy to cope with the changes you'll be going through. And classes._

Ivan had always been better at accepting these things. The same hand that had held onto Alfred's during the appointments tugged him along through all of his new lessons. In true Alfred fashion, there was a fair amount of kicking and screaming and shouting, but eventually he gave in.

And eventually the clock on their nightstand and the phone in his hand and the view of the mountains out the window all really did fade away.

He found he noticed things differently. Sounds were a little louder, a little sharper, and he realized he could gauge where people were and what they were doing based on the noises alone. The people in his life all had a unique music, from the way their clothes rustled and their footsteps clicked across tiles.

"What do I sound like?"

"Warm. Patient. Home."

It became a new game to describe things in rooms as he felt them and listen to Ivan's whispered descriptions of their colors in his ear. After a while he was more comfortable navigating new places alone, using senses he had never appreciated to relearn what he thought he had lost.

It was dark, he had noticed the night air felt different on his skin than the day's. He and Ivan were sprawled out on an old wool blanket in the backyard. The grass beneath them had been recently cut and smelled sweet along with the closing flowers.

They were stargazing. Ivan's arm outstretched and holding Alfred's left towards the sky as they traced familiar constellations.

_Ursa Major, Sagittarius, Scorpius._

Alfred felt a new weight settle on his ring finger as they passed Vega along with a very quiet question.

He said yes, before leaning in to relearn the feel of the other man's lips against his own.

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><p><em>Vega is a very pretty star with many stories tied to it. In western mythology it is part of the constellation Lyra, Orpheus' harp. For that reason Vega is known as the Harp Star and is associated with music.<em>

_I was going for a theme, haha. So cheesy. I should be ashamed._


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